


Hypothesis Contrary to Fact

by reptilianraven



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Domestic, Family Fluff, Humor, M/M, Roxy and Her Wide Array of Spy Dads: The Fic, Unconventional Families, kid!Roxy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/pseuds/reptilianraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do you feel about children?" Percival asks the moment James picks up his phone.</p><p>"What?" James yawns. To be fair, it is the middle of the night. "Well I'm a little bit indifferent, love. Why?"</p><p>"Uh," He looks down at where an ten year old girl is hugging his leg, pressing a knife against his femoral artery, bright eyes just <i>daring</i> him to go against her. "Well."</p><p>-</p><p>Or the one where Percival is kidnapped by a child and then ends up adopting that same child. James doesn't know whether to be horrified, enamoured, or amused, so he settles for a mixture of all of the above. And so two became three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> ive wanted to write a roxy+percilot family fic since like, the beginning of the universe, but i only found the time now. with that said this thing was supposed to be a mindless fluff fest of domestic glee, but i was never known for my ability to stick to the plan, and this happened multichapter disaster happened. well.
> 
> warnings include attempted britpicking by a decidedly not british southeast asian bilingual teen (me), the overuse of italics and em dashes, inconsistent chapter lengths, sporadic update times, and many instances of what i think is defined as humor.
> 
> i hope you enjoy

“Left wing, first floor, clear.” Percival says, eyes scanning an empty room. It’s a lab of some sort, but everybody must have left the moment the alarms went off.

“Then get your perky little arse down the hall,” Elyan tells him. Percival makes it a point to exaggerate his sigh so that she hears him. “There are still four heat signatures left on that floor. Chop chop.”

“The children?” He asks as he starts making his way down the hallway. Footsteps soft.

“Extraction’s already got them,” Elyan says. “Don’t worry about them. Focus on clearing the facility.”

Focus. Right. Percival could do that despite how fucked the situation was. The villainous organization of the week has made it their mission to train super soldiers from children, firmly believing that this would craft the most efficient operatives the world will ever see. It was a novel idea if it weren’t for the fact that it was horrendous. 

There is a door up ahead, slightly ajar. 

“Anybody in there, El?” He stalks closer. The doorknob is busted, but it doesn’t show forced entry. It shows forced _exit_.

“Nope,” She says. Percival peers inside. The room isn’t a lab or a large dorm area filled with bunk beds like the rooms he’s seen in the past few floors. Instead, it’s got a small single bed in the corner, a toilet, and a sink. 

“Somebody used to be here,” Percival says.

“Well, no shit. They’re certainly not there anymore, though.” Elyan snorts. “Those heat signatures are beginning to get into a bit of a scuffle, Percival. Take care of them first. Investigate afterwards.”

“Do you have a visual?” He navigates the halls and stops when he hears struggling, cursing. A gunshot. Infighting between the henchmen? 

“Negative. No surveillance on this floor.” She says. “Get in there before they kill each other and you’re left with nobody to interrogate information out of.”

Now, Percival has been an active agent for a while. He’s seen his fair share of odd things. From the ridiculous new gadgets the tech department tries to develop to the farfetched world domination plans by the villain of the week. But those things didn’t prepare him to see a young girl who can’t be any older than twelve, kick the legs out under a man twice her size before wrangling his gun away from him and shooting neatly between the eyes, all in one fluid motion.

“Oh my god,” Elyan says as the man slumps against the hall, dead as he can get, along with the two other dead guards.

“Quite,” He finds himself saying.

The girl whips her head to the sound of his voice and a gun is trained on Percival. She has to look up, seeing as she’s roughly waist height compared to him, but she does a good job of looking threatening nonetheless. Despite being dressed in a loose shirt and pajama bottoms, hair messy, barefoot, looking young in every definition of the word, she has this look in her eyes that goes against it all. A terrible mix of feral and calculating. Percival has his gun on her, but he’s still at a disadvantage. He isn’t going to shoot her, but she doesn’t look like she’s got the same problem. 

She looks two seconds away from shooting Percival.

“She’s actually pretty adorable,” Elyan says as the girl unloads five bullets right into Percival’s gut point blank. Called it. “Oh _shit_.”

The bullets don’t go through the suit but it does hurt like a bitch, kicking the air right out of Percival’s lungs. He staggers backwards and falls to the ground with a groan so that he doesn’t get shot in the head, and stays very, very still.

“Hey,” The girl says, almost worried. Her voice is rough with disuse. “Don’t do that. You’re not dead, or anything. I know the suit’s bulletproof. I heard the guards talkin’ about it.”

“Damn,” Percival looks up at her and gets the barrel of a gun staring down at him. “Then why did you shoot me?”

“Because you’re tall,” Her eyebrows scrunch up. Percival hears Elyan’s ‘aww’. “I needed you lower.”

“Why not just kill me then?”

And now the girl rolls her eyes as if Percival is the child in the situation. “Why would I kill my only way out?”

“The other children got out just fine,” Percival sits up slowly, hoping the action doesn’t end with another set of bullet bruises. “I can take you to them. It’s all over. You’re free now.”

“Oh yes, of course.” She scoffs. “I’ll just go to the authorities to some orphanage where _they_ —” She casts a glance to the three dead guards. “—will find me again. And then I’ll get filtered down into another hellhole like this one. Wonderful plan, really.”

“She’s snarky,” Elyan says. “I like her.”

“I assure you, that won’t happen.” Percival tells the girl instead of telling Elyan to make herself useful. He knows that if the girl doesn’t cooperate soon, he’ll just have to dart her, but he’s not in position where he can reach his watch without looking awfully suspicious and getting his hand shot off in the process. “Trust me on this.”

“Sorry, but people like me don’t really trust people like you all that easily.” She says, jaw tensed. “Get up.”

“What are you going to do now?” Percival does as she says slowly, until he’s back to towering over her. It’s new, he thinks. Appearances aside, she is the one in complete control.

“I’m going to get out,” She says. “But I’ll need protection if I don’t want to end up here again. That’s where you come in. You’re my protection.”

“Percival,” Elyan says. “I think you’re about to get kidnapped by a child.”

\---

“I can’t believe you got kidnapped by a child,” Merlin says when he joins the comms. 

The girl had led Percival out of the facility, bypassing the main entrance, instead going for a hidden back passage that eventually led them to a path in the planes next to a main road. Along the way, she ditched the gun and picked a pocket knife from a guard Percival had killed earlier. She also took his shoes, for obvious reasons. From there, they waited for a bus to the city while Elyan called Merlin in due to all this being out of mission scope, which is actually just bullshit speak for “I think this is hilarious and Merlin needs to be here to witness it.”

This is how Percival ends up in a bus sitting next to a girl who swings her legs back and forth because she can’t reach the floor, all the while subtly pressing a knife to Percival’s side. They must look like a sight. A man in a bespoke suit sitting next to a girl who looks like she escaped a hospital ward wearing shoes five sizes too big. But it’s the middle of the night, so he figures if anybody notices how odd they look, they just politely ignore it. 

“Once you’re in a secure location with no witnesses, dart her.” Merlin orders. “But until then, know that you will be an absolute laughingstock when you get back to HQ.”

FUCK OFF, Percival blinks in morse.

Of course, his blinking doesn’t go unnoticed. The girl looks up at him, squints her eyes, and says “You’re talking to somebody.”

“No I’m not.”

“I thought spies were supposed to be good at lying,” She says. “I remember you talking, back in the facility. It’s in the glasses, right? Messaging. You’re connected to a handler of some sort.”

“Well, she’s bright. I’ll give her that.” Merlin says.

“And cute. Really, really cute.” Elyan says. “Can we keep her? She’d make a wonderful agent.”

“I’m not a spy,” Percival tries.

“Right, and I’m a perfectly normal little girl.” She pokes him with the knife. “They did also teach me to not be as dim as rock, you know. You’re dressed too well to be police. You’re too calm to be a civilian. And you have cool gadgets like bulletproof suits and transmission glasses. Spy.”

“Fair enough,” Percival sighs. He lived with four younger cousins who ran him ragged as a teen. In short, he knows that when you’re up against a child, an intelligent one no less, there’s no winning.

She holds her hand out. “Give it here.”

“I do actually need these to see, too.” 

“Geez, it’s not like you’re _blind_.” She reaches off and plucks them right off his face as Elyan is trying to contain her enthusiastic cooing, before sliding the window open and chucking the glasses out.

“Perfect,” Percival sighs. “How do you expect me to help you if I can’t contact my people?”

“We’ll find a payphone. It’s not that complicated,” She says. “I just don’t want you talking to people without me knowing.”

“Paranoid, much.”

“It’s by design,” She says and that shuts down Percival’s next quip.

“What’s your name?” He asks instead. 

“We don’t get names,” And if that isn’t depressing, Percival doesn’t know what is. 

“Do you want one?” 

“I dunno,” She shrugs. “Dunno any good names. I don’t actually know any names at all, come to think of it.”

“My name is Percival,” He says, extending his hand for a shake despite the risk of getting a finger cut off. “But you can call me Percy, if you like. Some people I know call me Percy.”

She doesn’t say anything for a bit. She just swings her legs back and forth, looking out the window. The wind from outside messes her hair up, but she seems to like it. Face serene, eyes tracking the scenery as it passes by. She’s shivering slightly, though. The air is frigid and her clothes are threadbare and thin.

“You’re cold,” He says.

She hums. “I know.”

Percival shifts slightly, only to have the knife poked at his side again.

“What are you doing?” She hisses.

“Relax,” He shrugs his suit jacket off, hoping that he doesn’t get stabbed in the kidney. Percival takes a chance and gently drapes his jacket over the girl’s shoulders which tense when he brushes against her. 

He backs off, but not enough to be out of stabbing range, because he’s sure that the girl finds comfort in the knowledge that she could stab him at any time. She’s staring at Percival now. Her jaw is set and her eyes are searching. It’s a look Percival recognizes. It looks like she’s trying to figure Percival out, but can’t come to any logical conclusions. Her free hand moves to adjust the coat snug against herself.

Then she says, “R.”

“What?”

“They called me R,” She turns her head back to the window. “S’not my name, but it’s the only thing they called me after the other one, the one before me, Q, failed one of his tests.” Her legs still. “He was smart. Smarter than I was, but he wasn’t really strong. I dunno what happened to him after he failed.”

“He probably got out with the rest of them,” Percival says. “We’re very good at what we do.”

“And what is that, exactly? What do you do?” R asks. “Get rid of the bad guys? Save people?”

“We get rid of people who think they can get away with everything and anything, R.” 

“Not my name.”

“We’ll work on it.” He says. “What’s your plan, anyways?”

“We get to the city and find a payphone,” She says. “You can talk to your people and they can arrange for an extraction.”

“No, I meant afterwards.” R tilts her head. “After we get out of the country, what will you do? Will you just run away?”

“Definitely not. If I did that, they’d find me in a matter of weeks.” She says, face grim. “I’m their only success, so they’ll want me back real bad. But they won’t come anywhere near me as long as I’ve got you.” R looks up at him, something that’s almost a smile starting on face. “You messed them up good, so I reckon I’ll be fine as long as you’re by my side.”

“I can’t be with you every second,” Percival frowns.

“Yes,” R nods. “But if you had, say for example, custody of me, that would be enough of a threat to keep them away.” 

“Are you—” Percival starts, then stops, because it’s a _terrible_ idea. “Are you asking me to _adopt_ you?”

A smirk pulls on R’s lips. “I promise I’ll be a good daughter.”

“Jesus Christ,” Percival says. 

\---

"How do you feel about children?" Percival asks the moment James picks up his phone.

"What?" James yawns. To be fair, it is the middle of the night. "Well I'm a little bit indifferent, love. Why?"

"Uh," He looks down at where R is hugging his leg, pressing a knife against his femoral artery, bright eyes just _daring_ him to go against her. "Well. I’m in a situation of sorts."

“Hey,” R tugs on Percival’s sleeve. “Ask him for the location of a nearby safe house. You guys must have one if you were planning on taking down the facility.”

“What’s happening over there?” James asks, more alert now. “Who’s that with you?”

“Nobody,” Percival says. “But do you think you could go log into the database and tell me the coordinates for the safe house in Kópavogur?”

“But Merlin gave you the coordinates,” James says. There’s some shuffling on the other end.

“I may have misplaced my glasses,” He shoots a glare at R who just shrugs. 

“You’ve misplaced your glasses? I hope you’re not walking around, then. You’d be a right traffic hazard without them, dear.” James tells him. “But yes, I’m logging in. Give me a few minutes.”

Percival sighs, “I love you.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Percival.” _Merlin_ says, what the _fuck_.

“Whoops, sorry.” James says. “He cut in when I logged in. Hello Merlin.”

“Lovely,” Percival rests his head against the payphone. “Hello Merlin.”

“Hey,” R tugs on his sleeve. “What’s happening?” 

“A disaster.”

“Well put, Percival.” Merlin says. “Location. Now.”

“A payphone somewhere in Iceland.”

“Specifics,” Merlin sighs while James says, “Hey, Iceland is a small place. How many payphones could there possibly be over there?”

“You can’t expect me to believe you haven’t been tracing this call since it started.” 

“It saves me the effort if you just told me.”

“Hey,” R tugs on his sleeve again, insistent, eyes shifting around the street. “Hurry up. It’s not getting any warmer. Safe house.”

“Just a minute, R.”

“R? Who’s R?” James asks.

“Well I’m assuming it’s the name of the ten year old girl who managed to kidnap one of our finest agents,” Merlin answers. 

“Holy shit, tell me you’re not lying.” James says. Percival thumps against the payphone a couple of times. “Oh my god, Percy. Oh my _god_. This is real. You can never make fun of me for Congo ever again.”

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Merlin says. At least he sounds like he’s having fun. “The girl is armed and is trained to kill.”

“But _ten years old_.”

“Are you two going to be useful or will I just have to ask R to stab me so I can be put out of my misery?”

“I might just do that if we don’t get to a safe house soon!” R yells, right before she slices a shallow wound up Percival’s side. 

“That was uncalled for,” Percival hisses, bringing a hand to his side. He glares at R for a split second before he notices that she looks absolutely petrified. She barely batted an eyelash when she killed three men, but now, here on an empty street in front of a payphone in the middle of the night, she looks scared.

“Please hold,” Percival lets the phone dangle from the cord before he crouches down in front of R.

She presses the knife to Percival’s neck the moment he’s in reach, but at the same time, her eyes are getting increasingly wet. 

“Hey,” Percival says.

“I’m not crying.” R says. She blinks the tears away before they can fall.

“Okay. Just don’t get upset.”

“I’m not upset!” She says, voice wavering.

Percival sighs. They aren’t going to get anywhere like this. “Do you think you could not be upset while putting the knife down?”

“No,” R sniffs. “I don’t trust you.”

“I know that,” He says. Percival isn’t sure R will ever trust anybody ever again. She was trained as a weapon. An object. “But if I’m going to help you, you’re going to have to trust me just a little bit. Not 100%, but just enough to not threaten bodily harm on me every time I try anything, because that will get a bit difficult once the sun comes up.” R looks at him, still blinking, but looking better than a while ago. “If it helps, know that I trust you enough to not kill me.”

“How do you know I won’t?”

“I don’t,” He tells her frankly. “That’s the whole point of trust. You don’t know for sure but you believe in it anyways.”

R frowns. “That gets you killed.”

“But it could also get you saved,” Percival says. He brings his hand up and closes it around R’s hand. R has the look again. The one where she thinks Percival doesn’t make any sense. Her grip around the knife is loose, until she lets go completely. It must be one hell of a trust fall, and he appreciates it greatly.

He folds the knife closed and tucks it in the pocket of the suit jacket R is still wearing. 

“Go talk to your people,” She says. More than anything, Percival knows this is a girl who is determined to get through all of this. “Just be quick. I’m getting hungry.”

\---

Percival is a private man. Some would even call him secretive. He did, after all, adopt his codename as his new real name after completely erasing his previous identity upon entering Kingsman. It was something that was whispered on about in the agency, because everybody just loves a mystery, until people just accepted it like how they accepted James was a wanker.

Point is, most people don’t really know much about Percival before he came to Kingsman. One of the things most people don’t know is the fact that Percival is good with kids.

He was an only child, but he lived with four younger cousins who he feels he raised more than their actual parents. So at the age of eighteen, he knew how to take care of an infant, a toddler, and two twelve year old twins, all at the same time, without setting the house on fire. 

It’s a talent that stuck with him after he shed that life. It was first discovered by Elyan when he was sent on a mission to rescue the six year old son of one of Kingsman’s sponsors from a kidnapping. After the whole ordeal, Oliver became quite attached to Super Secret Spy Percival, much to Elyan’s absolute glee. He’s sure Elyan videoed him walking around the medical bay with Oliver wrapped around his leg like a koala.

It was Merlin and Harry who witnessed it next. Merlin is Harry’s main handler and Percival and Harry had been called to a mission at ski resort. It ended in with the both of them, along with two other civilians, a mother daughter pair, caught in an avalanche. The girl, just thirteen years old, had broken her leg and was in need of a splint.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. Everything will be alright.” He had said to the girl. He was vaguely aware of Harry at the side, looking at him like he was an alien. “Be a brave girl for me, okay?”

“Since when were you good with children?” Merlin asked after they all got back safely. Jo waved enthusiastically at him from her stretcher where the medics were checking on her leg. Her mother looked relieved and exhausted but waved a bit too. “Good thing you were on this mission, though. If it had just been Harry up there, he would have just knocked them both out and carried them down the mountain.”

“I’m offended,” Harry said. “I would at least use the amnesia darts. It’s only polite.”

The last person to find out was James, who was coincidentally the last person Percival ever wanted to know. It was when Lorna, the thirty one year old mother who lived across the street and came over to feed the dogs when James and Percival were both out, came to Percival with a work emergency. Percival was happy to look after eleven month old Marcine for the afternoon, since dear Matthew was out of town. 

So later, James had found Percival reclined on their couch with Marcine sitting on his chest, screeching in joy as he roused her in a thrilling game of peek-a-boo.

“Hello James,” Percival greeted after five minutes of James just hovering at the doorway of the living room in his periphery, face a mixture of awe and awww.

“Oh,” James jumped at being noticed. He makes his way to the couch. “Hello dear. Who’s, uh. Who’s this?”

“This is Lorna’s daughter, Marcine.” Percival said. “Marcine, this is James. Say hello.”

“Ba!” Marcine said in James’ direction, before apparently getting very shy and hiding her face in Percival’s shoulder.

“Hello Marcine,” James said as he hovered around the couch. “Lorna’s kid. I like Lorna. Lorna is cool. The dogs like Lorna.”

Percival rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Percival quirked an eyebrow. “Nothing! I swear. It’s just that you’re good with her. You’re good with _kids_.” James said. “Elyan showed me the video. It was really cute. I just didn’t think you’d be good with kids.”

“I had a lot of younger cousins,” Percival said. Marcine had fallen asleep on him, so he sat up slowly, making sure not to wake her. “And I like kids.”

“Oh,” James said. His face started to panic. 

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Percival said slowly.

“But—”

“James,” He said. “You look like you’re about to shit yourself. Calm down.”

“Do you—” James started. And this is why Percival didn’t want him to know. “Do you, you know. Want kids?”

“Not if you don’t.” He smoothed a hand down Marcine’s back. James looked at her like she was a landmine.

“That wasn’t my question,” James sat down next to Percival.

“Fine.” Percival sighed. “Yes, I would. I would like kids.”

“Huh,” James said. 

They never talk about it again, because it seemed like a touchy topic. Percival just assumed, based on James’ reaction, that he just wasn’t the type to like kids. But they never actually talked about it. Percival never actually gets to know how James feels about kids, other from the fact that they make him panic. They don’t talk about it.

That is, until R kidnaps him. They’ll have to talk about it soon, because Percival is sure that once he and R get to HQ, he’ll be adopting her.

He’ll be _adopting_ R.

Oddly enough, it doesn’t sound as bad as it did a few hours ago. 

But a lot of things can change in the span of a few hours. 

Percival had _finally_ gotten the coordinates for the safe house, and he and R were on their happy way. R had stopped holding a knife against him and instead settled for holding Percival’s wrist in a death grip. 

They’re at the safe house now. A nondescript apartment in the city. It’s decked with supplies to last for three days and some equipment too. There’s an extra pair of glasses, one of the older models, which Percival slips on the moment he sees them, only to grumble when he realizes it still isn’t his prescription, leaving the world slightly blurry. 

R grabs all the fruits stocked in the fridge while Merlin sends him a few messages about extraction. He skims over the details while he bandages the cut R gave him. A time and a place. Tomorrow. They have a whole night to spare, so Percival blinks open another window. 

He walks over to where R is on an armchair, slicing pieces of an apple off with her knife, happily munching down, and places the glasses on her face.

“What?” She says, wiggling her nose so the glasses are straight. “I thought you needed these to see.”

“No, they’re one of the older, standard models. Not really much use to me.” Percival tells her. “Extraction is tomorrow morning. But until then.” 

He reaches towards the glasses and double taps the frame. R’s eyes widen when the screen of the lenses flashes to life, blinking to adjust.

“What is—” R scans the list Percival had pulled up. “What’s this?”

“Names,” Percival snatches an apple slice. R barely notices him, instead, all her attention is focused on the list. “Pick one you like. Or don’t, if you want to stick with R.”

“No, I’ll pick one.” She says. “I kind of fucking hate R.”

“Language,” Percival says.

“Right.” R snorts, eyes focusing on him past the screen of the lenses. “Is that how it’s gonna be then? You really gonna be my dad?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Is it what _you_ want?”

“I like kids,” Is what he says. “I always have. But my partner—”

“James, right? The one you were on the phone with.” She pops a slice into her mouth. “What’s up with him? He doesn’t like kids?” She says as if she’s ready to murder James over it. 

“He doesn’t _hate_ kids, but I don’t really know what he thinks about having kids. We never really talked about it.” He shrugs. “But he’s a good man. One of the best. And I have a feeling he’ll like you.” Percival tells her. “Now I’m just not sure if you’ll like _him_. He’s a bit much, at first. Really talkative.”

“I can deal with that,” R says. “I mean, if _you_ like him, he can’t be that bad.”

Percival finds himself laughing at that, but it peters out when he notices R staring at him. Staring at him like she’s never seen a person really laugh before.

Percival has a lot of work to do. 

“You should sleep,” He says. “There’s a bed in the next room. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m okay here,” R tells him, eyes scanning through the list. “And I’m not sleepy yet. You go ahead.”

“Alright. Don’t murder me in my sleep,” R snorts. “Good night.”

“‘Kay. Good night.”

He doesn’t actually sleep. Percival leaves the door open and lies back, not particularly thinking of anything. He’s tired, but it’s not enough to put him to sleep. The ceiling keeps him entertained until he hears the telltale clack of glasses against the floor.

Percival steps out of the room and sees R asleep on the couch. He bends down to fetch the glasses, folding them and setting them on the table. 

“I’m going to carry you now,” He says mostly to himself. “Please don’t punch me in the throat.”

Carefully, he tucks an arm around her back and under her knees, and lifts her with ease. He sets her down on the bed and gets to work slipping off her ridiculously big shoes when he hears her say, “—anne.”

“Hm?” He sets the shoes down. “What did you say?”

“Roxanne,” She blinks blearily. “I like the name Roxanne.”

“Roxanne,” He says, trying it out.

She frowns a bit at that. “Maybe not. It sounds a bit too posh for me.”

“Maybe Roxy,” Percival tries. “Like how my name is Percival but some people call me Percy. It rests easier on the tongue. Sounds more natural.”

“Roxy,” She says. “Yeah. That sounds...better. Roxy.”

“Roxy it is then,” He says. “Good night Roxy.”

“Mmmm,” She hums, pulling Percival’s coat over her like a blanket. “Good night Percy.”

It’s the first time they’ve said their names. Percival can see himself getting used to it.

\---

“Merlin,” Percival says on the plane the next day when he slips on the extra glasses they hand him. He’s filled with silent euphoria when he notices that the world is finally _clear_. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“If that favor has anything to do with creating a new identity for your newfound favorite little killing machine,” Merlin guesses rather accurately. “I’ll be happy to tell you how getting involved is a bad idea.”

“I’ll also need adoption papers.”

“Wonderful!” Merlin says followed by what sounds like a facepalm. It sounds like despair and regret. “Perfect, really. You want to adopt a girl literally trained to murder people. There is no way this could go wrong.”

“Are you reprimanding me, a person who has killed people, on the downsides of a girl who kills people?” Percival asks. He hears despair and regret again. “Come on, it’s not like you can’t do it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I know you’ll keep it from Arthur, too.”

“Also not the point.”

“And it’s not like other agents don’t have families too,” He says. “It’s entirely possible.”

“Yes, but your situation is not the regular picket fence setup, is it Percival?” Merlin tells him. “Both you and James are active agents, whereas those agents who do have families married somebody who can stay at home and be there when they aren’t, and ultimately, when the job kills them.” He says. “Not to mention the glaring fact that the girl is a _trained assassin_. Even if you disregard those things, this is still a big thing. You want to _adopt_ a _child_. Have you talked this through with James?”

“Since when are you our relationship counselor?”

“Avoiding the question.”

“I will,” Percival says. “Later.”

“The more you postpone it the worst—”

“I know,” He interrupts him. Roxy is sitting across him, staring out of the window, occasionally casting glances in his direction. “But if we talk now, we might argue. And I’d rather not do that in front of Roxy.”

“Who now?”

“Roxy. The girl.” Percival says. “Or well, Roxanne. But she likes Roxy better.”

“Good lord, you’ve named her.” Merlin groans. “You’ve gone and done it. You’ve gotten _attached_.”

“New identity and adoption papers,” Percival repeats. 

“Fine,” Merlin sighs. There’s some aggressive keyboard tapping. “ _Fine_. I hope you’re happy with Roxanne Morton, estranged cousin-niece whose parents recently died. You’re her closest blood relatives. Congratulations. You’re a father.”

“Thank you,” Percival says and he hangs up before Merlin can say anything else. He’s really getting some of James’ bad habits.

“So what’d your boss say?” Roxy asks. Her face is still trained on the window, looking at the clouds. She reaches into the pocket of Percival’s jacket, something she’s still wearing, and pulls out some grapes she took from the safe house. 

“He’s getting things in order.”

“About me living with you?”

“Mhhmm,” He nods. “Your name is Roxanne Morton. Your parents died so you’ll be with me now. Nobody will ask any questions. Nobody will look for you. Nobody will _find_ you.”

“Everything is settled then,” Roxy says, popping a grape into her mouth.

“As settled as they could possibly be,” Percival nods. “But, Roxy. This won’t be easy.”

“I never expected it to be.”

“I’m an active agent,” He says. Roxy just looks at him, waiting for him to get to the point. “I’m an active agent, and James is too.”

“Okay?”

“What I’m saying is that we won’t be around a lot,” Percival explains. “Sometimes missions will keep us away for long periods of time. Sometimes we’ll get hurt and be stuck in the medical bay for weeks.”

“Then don’t get hurt,” Roxy says simply.

“I’ll try, but it’ll happen either way.” He tells her. “We’ve got some nice neighbors who can come over if you’re lonely. We’ve also got two dogs who can keep you company. But we can’t be with you all the time.”

“I can take care of myself,” She tosses a grape at him. “And I’ll be safe. As long as I’m safe, none of that matters.”

“Of course it matters,” Percival says. Roxy looks at him and _doesn’t get it_. “Roxy, what I’m trying to say is that you deserve a good life. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you get that life, but the moment you want out, you tell me.” She opens her mouth to say something but he continues before she can say anything. “I swear, I’ll help you. If you don’t like living with us, I’ll help you find other people. Another family. People who’ll keep you safe and take care of you. People who aren’t spies. They’ll be normal, so normal nobody will think to find you there.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Roxy asks jokingly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks hurt, really.

“No, I’m not. I’m just telling you that you have choices.” He says. “If you stay with us, we’ll take care of you. But it won’t be normal.”

“I think,” Roxy says after a few minutes of swinging her legs back and forth. Percival recognizes it for what it is, now; a nervous tick. “I think that wouldn’t work. See, I don’t like people. You’re literally the only person I like. So anybody else would be weird. They wouldn’t really know me. They wouldn’t know why I’m the way I am. Not like you. I don’t think I can _do_ normal anymore.”

“I figure if I were like the other kids at the facility, the younger ones,” Her legs still. “I might’ve went for normal. But It’s too late for me. It seems nice, but I can’t do that. I don’t wanna pretend to be something I’m not.” Roxy says. “Killer, normal person, same thing. Just pretending. I don’t want that.”

“What do you want?” Percival asks.

“A life,” Roxy shrugs. “That’s it, really.”

It’s a simple enough request. Percival is determined to see it through.

“Alright,” He says. Roxy goes back to looking out the window. She looks anxious. She looks excited. She looks like she’s ready to take on whatever is foolish enough to go against her. “Then we’ll work it out.”


	2. Settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets Roxy. Roxy meets James. Roxy-and-James meet a few bumps in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did warn about sporadic update times.

James is quite accustomed to dramatic entrances. He’s a _spy_ , so he’s pretty sure dramatic entrances are about as common as rainy days. Gawain once touched down to HQ just to begin frothing violently at the mouth because of a delayed reaction to a poison he unknowingly ingested on his mission. Harry once got his cover blown so bad, he cut off all communication and clawed his way back to Europe by the sheer force of his will, showing up at HQ like a half dead burglar. James jumped out of a helicopter one time, just for funsies. Percy threw a right fit over that.

Percy didn’t really like any of that shit. He entered just like how he did everything else in his life; deliberately. Quietly. Nothing with much flare. 

But despite this, James really thinks there is something silently dramatic with how Percy stepped off a plane with a little girl glued to his side.

With that said, James is pretty fucking pissed at Percy right now. The bastard had adopted a child, and James figured it out through _Merlin_ , when he passed him by the hallways and Merlin had clapped him on the shoulder along with a solemn, “He adopted the small assassin.”

His thoughts then jumped from _And he didn’t even ask me?_ to _Holy shit. Transitively, this makes me a father. Holy shit._ in roughly three seconds.

James was quite ready to engage Percy in a conversation with panicked yelling the moment he got off the plane, but then he actually saw him. He saw Percy next to a young girl staring death into anybody looking at her.

James felt the words dry up in his mouth.

He delays the inevitable by hiding in Merlin’s office and watching Percy’s feed with him. The two get ushered into the medical bay, and barely minutes in, the girl nicks a scalpel from a nearby tray and tries to stab a nurse for trying to take Percy’s jacket off of her. 

The feed focuses on the girl, and James figures Percy is fixing her with quite the look when he says “Roxy,” in a stern tone.

She sighs, quite exaggeratedly if you ask James, local exaggeration specialist, and places the scalpel into Percy’s waiting hand.

That’s what gets James. She gives the scalpel to Percy, instead of returning it to the tray or to the nurse. She gives it to _Percy_.

“Christ,” He tells Merlin. “She’s imprinted on him like a duckling.”

“Duckling trained for murder,” Merlin nods. “She can’t be with Percival when we debrief.”

“Obviously.”

“So you’ll have to watch over her.”

“What!?”

“You’re James,” Roxy Morton says, and does not ask, a few terrible moments later. Percy is getting debriefed in the next room and she’s lounging on an arm chair, tossing a lone grape up in the air before catching it. Looking at her, James realizes he feels inexplicably out of place.

“Yes I am,” James says carefully instead of asking where the grape came from. It probably isn’t important to the conversation at hand. “And you’re Roxy. It’s nice to meet you.”

James extends his hand for a shake, but Roxy just looks at his hand like she’s thinking about breaking his fingers. He tries not to feel too offended. She also rejected Percy’s handshake. 

“Do you hate kids?” She asks, directing her finger-breaking glare up to James’ face.

“What, no!” James says, taking his hand back. It’s one hell of a glare. “No, I don’t hate kids. I just don’t really know what to do with you.”

“What to do with me,” Roxy repeats, her look turning particularly sharp. “I’m not an appliance.”

“Shit, that came out wrong.” James says because, right. Unwillingly trained to become a weapon. She’s been treated as an object for too long. “I just meant, I don’t really know how to...kids.”

“That’s not a verb,” Roxy raises an eyebrow. 

“That came out wrong too.” By this point, James is pretty sure he could get an Olympic medal for outstanding backpedaling. “I just never spent any time with kids except for when I was one myself. After that I—”

“Became a spy?”

“Yes,” James sighs. “It’s not exactly a line of work where you see children often.”

“Fair enough,” She says. “When is Percy going to be done?”

“In a few minutes.”

“Okay,” And then Roxy starts staring at a part of the room where James is nowhere in her view. Basically, that’s the end of the conversation. Incredible. 

James did _not_ sign up for this.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” James says the second Percy is through the door.

“I know,” Percy says. “We should probably talk.”

“Yes, we should probably fucking do that.”

“Not here, though.” Percy glances at Roxy.

“Oh, don’t mind me.” She says. “I’m alright with watching your lover’s quarrel.”

“Outside. Definitely outside,” James agrees while Percy herds him out of the room.

“Okay,” Percy closed the door. He turns to James and says “You can start now.”

“ _Are you out of your goddamned mind?_ ” James starts. 

“Probably,” He at least admits. Percy looks like shit, James realizes. He’s all bandaged and medically well, but he looks tired. Resigned. James takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down.

“Okay, I’ll start again, but this time with less yelling.” James says. “Percy, what the hell were you thinking?”

“In all honesty, I wasn’t.” Percy takes off his glasses. Runs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just _doing_.” And James knows how it is. On a mission, nothing exists outside of the moment. But the moment is over and James and Percy have a _kid_ “I’m sorry.” Percy says. “Not for doing it, but for not telling you or getting your side at all.”

“This all a bit of a disaster in the making, you realize.” James sighs and leans against the wall. “This is a lot. This is a _kid_.” And there’s so much more James wants to say (We’re agents, we can’t take care of her. I’m shit with kids. She could kill us in our sleep. This could destroy us.), but he can’t get the words out. If there’s one person James can always bet on rendering him speechless time and time again, it’d Percy.

“Do you want this?” Percy asks, stepping closer. “I didn’t get to ask you before, so I’ll ask now. Everything else aside, do you want this?”

The thing is, James would be a madman to say no. Yes, he’s never imagined it. Yes, he’s never given it any prior thought because the concept of children was terrifying. But if nothing went wrong, hell, even if _everything_ went wrong, he’d be fucking daft to not want a family with the man he loves. 

“For reasons beyond my explaining capability, I do. I do want this.” James says, and it sounds like a promise. He’s never been the type to break promises, after all. “Despite how this will surely blow up in our faces eventually, I want this. More importantly, I want this with you.”

Percy, in a word, looks stunned. As if he thought this couldn’t happen. As if he thought, fuck, that this would _end_ them.

“Hey,” James says, reaching for Percy’s hand. He let’s a smirk tug on his lips. “If you think a highly trained ten year old assassin is enough to get rid of me, you’ll have to try harder, dear. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Percy tells him, fingers lacing between James’. “I just didn’t think we would ever get this.”

“Why would you ever think that?”

Percy pulls back and raises an eyebrow. “We’re two homosexuals with a high mortality rate, and the last time you saw me with a child, you looked like you wanted to throw her out the window.”

“Well, fuck off, because you got it, love.” James ignores the subtle baby panic jab. “You got it the moment Roxy shot you in the gut. You got it the moment you didn’t deck me the first time I kissed you.”

Percy pulls him in for a kiss then. He clutches James’ lapels and pulls him in. James never gets tired of this. He never thinks he will. 

“Now,” James says when Percy rests his head on his shoulder, content and quiet, just like everything else he does. “How sure are you Roxy totally pressed her ear against the door the entire time and listened to everything.”

“Completely sure,” Percy says. There’s a faint sound of some quick shuffling past the door. James can’t help but laugh.

\---

Here is a handful of things Percy is: Intelligent. Taciturn at first, but is actually a sarcastic twat under all the reserve. The best sniper Kingsman has to offer. A secret Jane Austen lover. A romantic. 

On paper, he and James shouldn’t have worked out all that well. Here is a handful of things James is: A talkative bastard who doesn’t know when to quit sometimes. A stress baker. An ex-theater kid. A specialist in undercover operations. 

Working out together wonderfully was their big ‘fuck you’ to the universe, James figures. But he should have expected the universe to retaliate somehow, because now they have Roxy, and they need to work this out.

In a word, Roxy is _something_.

She’s in love with the dogs. When they first brought Roxy to their home, two large dogs bounded through the hallways to go and greet the new resident. James saw his dog’s life flash before his eyes when Roxy tensed up, worried she was going to karate chop Jan and Evangeline to an early doom. But then Jan licked Roxy’s face, and Roxy just _melted_. Roxy was then left there, standing by the door, running her fingers through the fur of two very happy dogs. She’s won their hearts over ever since, what with how the dogs follow her around the house wherever she goes.

(“If you’re agents, why do you both have dogs?” Roxy asked once, fingers scritching at Jan’s head. Evangeline draped her long self over Roxy, decorative couch potato she is, Roxy shifted her attention to Evangeline’s fur. 

“We get them during the recruitment process.” James said, deciding to leave out the part where you totally have to shoot them at the end. “We choose them as puppies and train them. Responsibility and discipline and all that jazz.”

“Huh,” She said. “I want one.”

“No,” Percy said from where he was utterly failing at slicing tomatoes. The only reason James let Percy do it is because he’d get bitchy if he made a single comment about his abysmal kitchen skills. “Definitely not.”

“But I’m responsible and disciplined,” Roxy reasoned.

Percy gave James a look. A _now look what you’ve done_ look. James replied with a _I didn’t do anything_ look.

“Hey, you two.” Roxy snapped her fingers. “Don’t do that thing where you have conversations without talking. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“I was just telling James that he was a bad influence.”

“I was just telling Percy that I’m _innocent_.”

“So can I get a dog?”

“No.” Percy said while James said, just to piss Percy off a bit, “Yes.”

“Two dogs is enough,” Percy slaughtered a tomato beyond all recognition. “If you haven’t noticed, I also have two kids to take care of.”

“I can take care of myself,” James and Roxy said at the same time, both equally indignant.

“I’ve made my point,” Percy told them. “No dogs.”)

Roxy is an insatiable reader. James and Percy have quite the collection of bookshelves, showing their myriad of interests through each cracked spine. Roxy goes through them all. She’ll pick up a book in the morning and return it in the night, starting up all over again the next day. Roxy doesn’t seem to be picky. She reads Percy’s mushy romance novels, to James’ encyclopedias, to that one book about fly fishing that neither Percy nor James bought, but ended up in their home anyways. She’s commandeered ownership of James’ pair of glasses, which he never uses anyways, to research anything and everything she can’t read on paper.

(“Which one of you made the first move?” Roxy asked once during breakfast, halfway through a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. 

Percy choked on his juice while James rushed to say “Me, obviously.”

“That’s a lie. He’s lying,” Percy said after he recovered. “I asked him out first.”

“I courted you for _months_.”

“That was hardly courting—”

“I took you ballroom dancing.”

“On a _mission_.”

“I gave you flowers—”

“You gave me an _aloe vera plant_.”

“Well I couldn’t get you anything with pollen, could I?” James huffed, taking a bite of toast. “Your allergies would have been dreadful.”

Roxy had her head buried in the book by then, but her shoulders shook slightly, a smile on her face.) 

Roxy is a snoop. She spent her first few days knocking on the walls, searching for hidden compartments, only to be disgruntled when most compartments were password protected. Roxy has got an unhealthy amount of paranoia for somebody so young. She uses the zoom function on her glasses to ‘keep watch’ on the neighbors, as if she’s ready for them to turn into terrorists. On a more worrying note, Roxy is a food hoarder. Though, if they’re being specific, she’s a _fruit_ hoarder.

(“You know,” James said when he caught Roxy taking a few oranges up to her room. Whenever Percy caught her, he would just pause for a while, and then go about with whatever he was doing. “The oranges will still be there even if you don’t hide them away in your room.”

“I know,” Roxy clutched her oranges. “I’m still taking ‘em.” And James doesn’t know if it’s possible to argue with logic like that.)

It isn’t perfect, obviously. If Roxy is something, and Roxy-and-Percy are oddly complimentary, then Roxy-and-James are just _awkward_. It’s both of their faults, really. They’re both in situations they have no experience in. They both need to make some attitude adjustments. They both suck at communicating, wherein James doesn’t know how to talk to Roxy, and he’s pretty sure Roxy has the same problem vice versa. When Roxy does speak, it’s in statements and questions that come and go too quick, and before you know it, the fruit basket is missing two apples and a door upstairs just shut closed. 

James never thought parenting could be this stilted, but then again, he never thought about parenting at all. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that they’re at least making progress. It’s slow going and awkward as hell, but it’s happening. Roxy spends less time cooped up in her room. She shows some of the ease she has with Percy to James. She doesn’t freeze in her tracks when one of them catches her jumping around with the dogs. 

It’s slow going, but it’s _going_. And frankly, James thinks it’s worth the little light that flashes in Roxy’s eyes when she thinks nobody can see her smile.

So obviously, it all gets mucked up when Percy leaves.

\---

(“Human trafficking ring,” Merlin says. “Intel says they’re connected to the organization that had Roxy. A supplier of sorts.”

“Undercover?” Percival skims through the files. “Won’t they recognize me?”

“There was no surveillance in Kópavogur. No survivors too,” Merlin tells him. He levels a look at Percival. “I can’t _not_ put you on this mission. You know that. You could back out, but then Arthur would ask questions. As much as I hate the man, he’s smart enough to know where to look, and he’ll find somebody you shouldn’t have.”

“How long?” Percival asks.

“A month, probably. Shorter if you can get enough evidence and intel.” 

“I’d better get it over with quickly, then. I’ve got two children waiting for me at home.”)

\---

“Roxy,” James says to Roxy’s door. He’s given up on knocking, and has just settled for speaking to the door. “ _Roxy_ , come on. You can’t just hole yourself up in there forever.”

“Yes, I can.” Is Roxy’s muffled reply. “See? I’m doing it right now.”

“At least let the dogs out.” James sighs, deciding to try knocking again, but with his forehead.

“No. Jan and Evangeline like me more than they like you.”

This is getting ridiculous. “You know, I could just pick the lock or come in through the window.”

“I’d shoot you,” Roxy says.

“You wouldn’t kill me. You’d break Percy’s heart.”

“Not with a gun,” And James can’t see her, but he’s pretty damn sure Roxy is rolling her eyes. The kid has a sarcastic streak in her a mile wide. “I have one of your watches.”

“How did you get that?” James asks, half in horror, half in vague admiration. “How did you _know_ about that?”

“I’m not going out.” 

James slides down to sit at the foot of the door, sighs, and hopes he isn’t messing this up beyond all repair. Percy is going to be so pissed when he gets back, but until then, James is here, sitting on the floor, being a sad excuse of a parent in every way. 

“Listen, Roxy.” James says, but he isn’t sure if Roxy’s still listening or not. “I’m sorry Percy’s going to be gone for a while, but he warned you about this, and shutting yourself away won’t help. I know you don’t like me as much, but—” And he stops right there, because he can’t think of any of his many redeeming factors right now. At least not any that would actually matter to Roxy.

“Just, go away for a bit, okay?” Roxy says after a while. “I’m fine. I’m overreacting. I’ll get over it. But right now, just leave me alone.”

James might know fuck all about fatherhood, but he knows a damn dismissal when he hears one.

“Fine, just.” James stands up. “Just be down for dinner later.”

\---

James has been exposed to the entire spectrum of parents.

On missions, James had seen the shittiest kinds of parents. Neglectful bastards, abusive bastards, manipulative bastards, etc.

James’ own parents were the best. He and his sister were doted on, really. He wouldn’t call himself a spoiled kid, but they were certainly happy and posh. He felt bad for the other kids with parents who just didn’t give a flying fuck and threw money in their direction to make up for it. 

Then there was Lee Unwin, the ray of sunshine who’s bunk was right next to James’ during his recruitment. Lee was a damn riot. He was the only recruit without a stick up his arse. The only one who could keep up with James’ pace. He was humble, happy, and so in love with his family, James was tempted to barf. 

“He’s a little devil, he is.” Lee said as he showed James a picture of his son for the nth time. It was after the dog test. Jan was sleeping at the foot of James’ bed, while Lee’s bulldog, Rico, a big, slobbery thing, snored away on Lee’s lap.

“I mean, whatever happens, I’m just so fuckin’ excited to get home.” Lee told him. “Eggsy’s always wanted a dog, y’know? He’ll love Rico so much, isn’t that right boy?” Rico just snored in reply. James didn’t like to think of Lee after that point.

He doesn’t know how Percy’s parents were like. Distant, probably. Percy never talks about his life before Kingsman, and James is perfectly fine with that. Everybody has their right to a few skeletons in the closet. All he knows is that Percy’s mother died a few months after they started dating. Percy had left for a week to settle ‘family things’, going completely off the grid. He came back, looking tired and hollow.

“Are you okay?” James asked him when James returned from the store, groceries in hand, shocked but definitely not displeased with how Percy was back. Percy stood, back against James.

“No,” Percy said.

“What can I do to help, darling?” James set the groceries down, careful not to jostle the eggs. He figured he could make a nice omelette later. Spoil Percy rotten tonight.

“Nothing,” He told James, leaned into James’ touch when he had come closer, hands unsure where to go, unsure how to make this better. “Just don’t—” Percy stopped. His face was closed off.

“Don’t what?” James asked. 

“Don’t leave,” He said quietly. “Just be _here_.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Percy. Never.”

James is pretty sure he’s on the part of the spectrum where he has good intentions, but he doesn’t really know how to get it through. This doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person; it just makes him a stupid one. 

Three days after Percy left, the days that passed were strained. Roxy would come down for meals, pilfer a book or two, then retire to her room until the next time she had to leave. The dogs follow her around with unerring loyalty. James glared at Jan with as much betrayal he could possibly muster while Jan didn’t look all that affected. 

While James is a stupid parent, he _does_ know this has to stop soon, unless he wants Roxy to retreat so far back into her shell, it’d be too late for anybody to get her to come out. 

But here’s another two things James knows: he’s a damn good baker, and Roxy seems to really like fruit.

“Alright,” James says to the kitchen, ready to wage war with the rift that’s inching its way into this house. “Let’s fucking do this.”

\---

“What,” Roxy says when she comes down for lunch, stopping short of entering the kitchen, and instead just looking at the scene before her. “What?” She _asks_ this time.

“Good afternoon, Roxy.” James says over his shoulder as he readies his pastry dough, folding it into a neat-ish rectangle. The sides are a bit slanted, but James was never good at keeping things straight.

“What is all this?” She asks, still not entering. The dogs on the other hand, have left her side in favor of sniffing around. That’s one point for James’ side. The crowd goes _wild_.

“I’m making danishes,” James sprinkles some cinnamon sugar over his rectangle. From the corner of his eye, he can see Roxy make her way over to the counter, tip toeing to look at what he’s doing.

“Why?” Roxy pokes his dough rectangle and makes a face.

“Because I like baking,” Roxy fetches a chair to stand on, looking over James as he starts slicing his rectangle into wobbly strips. “It’s calming. Stress relieving.”

“And something’s stressing you out now, huh?” Roxy asks, and James knows he’s getting better at reading her because he hears the real questions. _Am I stressing you out?_

“Not really,” He says. “I’ve just gotten quite bored. Usually, when I have this much downtime, Merlin makes sure to give Percy some days off too, just so that I don’t set the house on fire. But he’s not here, so I’ve been...idle.”

“I’m here,” Roxy pouts.

“Yes, but you barely come out of your room.” James counters. Roxy seems to be slightly acquiesced. “And you also kidnapped the dogs.”

The _ding_ of the oven and his quick reflexes save him from the kick Roxy was about to deliver to his leg. He grabs his oven mitts, takes the tray from the oven, and lays it on a rack to cool. Roxy has her eyes trained on the rack. Hook, line, and sinker.

“What’re those?” Roxy asks, hand creeping up at the same time.

“Oi,” He smacks her hand away with an oven mitt. Roxy takes her hand back and looks at James with an incredible amount of pure disdain. “They’re apple danishes and you can get them once they’re cool.”

Disdain turns to _wonder_ the moment James says ‘apple danish’. “When can I get one?”

“A few minutes,” James goes back to his rectangle. He starts twisting the strips into wonky looking flowers. “Be patient.”

“And what’ll those be?” She looks over James’ shoulder. 

“Also danishes. Blueberry.” James thinks he heard Roxy make a vague sound of distress.

“I know what you’re doing,” Roxy tells him. “You’re luring me out with food so we can have a direct confrontation.”

“Why did you let yourself get lured, then?”

“Well, I _knew_. So I did it out of my own choice. Obviously.” She huffs. “So, what is it?”

“What is what?” James spares a glance to Roxy, who’s looking less at the danishes and more at him.

“What’s the reason? Why do you want me out here?” Roxy crosses her arms. 

“Why in the world _wouldn’t_ I want you out here?” James asks as he arranges his danishes on a tray.

“Because I annoy you.”

James stops, jam jar in hand, and looks at Roxy, who so obviously believes that statement with all her heart. Jesus christ.

“Do you ever bother to check if your assumptions are right?” James tries to open the jar, sighing when his hands are too clammy to get a good grip. “Or do you just stick to whatever conclusions you jump to?”

“I stick to my conclusions when they’re right,” Roxy leans over and grabs the jar from his hands.

“Well, you’re not right.” James says, slightly affronted with how the jar is no longer in his hands. “You’re wrong.”

“Right,” She rolls her eyes. Puts the hem of her shirt over the rim of the jar’s lid. “Because you absolutely do _not_ act weird around me. You don’t get all awkwardly quiet when I walk into a room. You don’t just put up with me because Percy likes me. You don’t just look at me like I’m some—some _fucking inconvenience_.” Roxy says, and with a vicious twist, the lid comes off. 

She hands him the jar, sits on the counter, stays silent, and waits. James gets it. She’s said her part, and now it’s his turn.

But what is he supposed to say to _that_?

James never wanted any of his behaviour to come off like that. He looks back, and he wants to brain himself with the jam jar. He’s been so fucking _stupid_. James can see it now, how he struggles through speaking when he’s talking to Roxy. How he’s smiling and laughing with Percy one moment, and then going silent when Roxy walks into the room. How he looks at Roxy sometimes, not knowing what to do, realizing how that look could have looked like something else. How he’s been messing this up monumentally in ways he didn’t even realize.

“I’ve been a bit stupid lately,” James finds himself saying. If Percy were here, he’d either lay a solemn hand against James shoulder and slowly shake his head, or just give in and facepalm.

“Yes, we’ve established that.” Roxy says. “I’m taking a danish now.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” James leans against the counter. “I’m a bit terrible at the whole parenting thing.”

“No shit,” Roxy says, eyes lighting up as she takes a bite of her danish. She seems to put a lot of effort not showing her joy, though.

“Hey, language. You’re only allowed to swear once you’re fourteen. If you start any earlier, Percy will blame it on me.” James reprimands. Roxy sighs. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not being good at this,” He tells her. 

“Not your fault. I’m not an easy person.” Roxy shrugs, as if placing the blame elsewhere, placing the blame on herself, is just _simpler_.

“Roxy, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” James says. “And I’ve been failing spectacularly at it. It’s my fault and I’m trying to make it better right now. I swear, I’m not annoyed with you. You aren’t a burden, or anything. I don’t just ‘put up with you’. While Percy started this, I’m not doing this for him.” He faces Roxy. She’s finishing her danish, eyes sharp and unforgiving. “I’m doing this for you, because you’re an entirely different, individual person whom I chose to be responsible for. It just so happens that I’m terrible at that.”

“It’s good,” Roxy says. “The danish, I mean. Not you. You’re really shi—bad. You’re really bad at this.”

“I know,” He sighs. Acceptance then improvement. 

“I don’t get _why_ , though. I mean, I watched some of your mission footage. 

“Wait, what?” Roxy looks quite smug with herself. “How?”

Then she raises an eyebrow, disbelief apparent. “Your password is _password_.”

“Merlin said to make it something easy to remember.”

“Wow,” She says. “Anyways, you’re really good at undercover stuff. You slip into character really, really easily.”

“Such praise,” James says flatly instead of reprimanding her again. It’d be no use anyways. “Which ones did you watch.”

“A bunch. Madrid ‘93 was really impressive.”

“That mission was _not PG-13_.” Percy is going to _kill_ him.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Roxy pops the last bit of her danish into her mouth. “Can’t you just do the same with me? If you’re so bad with me, just be somebody else. Treat it like a mission. Things will be easier if you just play the part.”

This, James thinks, is what makes Roxy so painfully different from other kids her age. Her mind is ruthlessly pragmatic. It’s the mindset drilled into new recruits during training. The mindset of an agent in fight or flight mode. Do whatever it takes to get the job done. But Roxy is not a job. Roxy is not an agent about to die. Roxy is a _kid_.

“Sorry, but that’s not an option.” James takes a danish and bites into it. “What I do on missions is fake. It’s a front. It gets the job done, but the cover is gone once I’m home because I can be me.” He’s looking at Roxy, but Roxy is looking at the floor. “If I’m going to be a good...father, I’ll do it by being me, however difficult the process will be.”

“I’m sorry too, I guess.” Roxy mumbles, uncharacteristically timid. Then she steals James’ danish. There we are. “For being difficult.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for reacting. Just, I dunno, work with me.” James smiles. “We’ll freak the shit out of Percy when he gets back to see us being all buddy buddy.”

Roxy smiles at that. “I miss Percy.” Then she turns her face away. “It’s dumb.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not. I miss him too. It doesn’t matter how often we’re away from each other, I always miss him.” And James means every word. “I’m always missing him.”

“Isn’t that unhealthy?” Roxy smirks, looking at James now.

“No. I think it’s called love.” James says, face completely serious.

“Ew,” Roxy scrunches her nose. “You two are so disgusting.” She says, but she’s smiling. 

Things aren’t magically perfect after that, but they’re taking the steps they were afraid to take before. James knows this because later that evening when James is reading on the couch, he hears Roxy’s come down the stairs.

“Hey,” She says, book of the day in hand, James’ glasses on her face. “Scoot.”

“I realize we’re going to need a bigger couch when Percy gets back,” James says as Roxy settles her feet near James’. 

Roxy kicks him, grinning. “Is that your way of calling me fat?”

“Oh, please. You’re skin on bones.”

“Whatever,” Roxy settles into the couch. Peaceful. Content. And James knows they can do this. 

Then Roxy’s glasses start blinking.

“Uh,” Roxy says. “Somebody is calling me, or, uh, you. It’s Merlin.”

She hands James the glasses. James slips them on, wondering why Merlin is calling him on his glasses. He knows James barely uses the thing, so it has to be an emergency.

“Lancelot speaking,” James says, glasses awkward on his face. “Merlin, what’s up?

“Percival’s cover has been blown,” Merlin says. “I need you to come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> james has [german shepherd](http://www.rescueagermanshepherd.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/german-shepherd-dog55.jpg) and percival has [borzoi](http://www.radostborzoi.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/1AJacob-for-fabric.jpg). usually im p chill about headcanons, but this is one you'll have to pry out of my cold, dead, dog-loving, fanfic hands.
> 
> coming up next: a longer chapter (cross my heart), james and percival being dumb spies, potted plants, and roxy getting weirded out.
> 
> im [actualbird](http://actualbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. hop on over and say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> coming up next: actual domestic things (swear down), percival and james being Adults, roxy and james being Awkward, baking, and surprise plot.
> 
> im [actualbird](http://actualbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. hop on over there if you wanna talk or hmu with prompts


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